


Something About You

by imalright



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: M/M, Your Name AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-29
Updated: 2020-12-29
Packaged: 2021-03-11 03:34:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,654
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28408563
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imalright/pseuds/imalright
Summary: Dimitri wakes up in Dedue's body. Dedue wakes up in Dimitri's body. Then it stops.
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Dedue Molinaro
Comments: 6
Kudos: 24





	Something About You

**Author's Note:**

> written for [Cherished: a Dimidue zine](https://twitter.com/CHERISHEDZINE)
> 
> let me tell you! writing a whole ass your name au under a zine word limit was an adventure

_Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd._

Dedue furrows his brow at the paper. He appreciates the thought, but he was able to figure out the body he’s inhabiting is the Prince of Faerghus or his own. He uses an unnecessarily flashy pen to write out his response:

_I noticed._

* * *

The third or fourth time he wakes up Dedue’s body, Dimitri is able to quickly get over the shock and take everything in.

He’s met Dedue’s mother, and his siblings, he’s paced his small home, and he’s eaten his mother’s cooking. None of this is new. Today, though, he walks through the front door and what he sees takes his breath away.

 _Your village is lovely,_ he writes on the paper left on Dedue’s bedside table, _I’ve never seen mountains such as these._

* * *

“My dear,” Dedue’s mother says to him one morning, “Is everything okay? You weren’t acting like yourself yesterday.”

Dedue blinks. “Yes,” he says carefully.

“Hm.” He doesn’t like her tone. “Just know you can tell me anything.”

He nods. “Yes, Mother.”

Later, after reviewing their plans for the following day and selecting an offering, Dedue scribbles a note.

 _My mother will fetch you for a sacred ceremony. It’s said that, long ago, two people saved my village from certain destruction by completing this Rite of Revival. Follow my_ _mother’s instructions carefully._

* * *

Dimitri doesn’t see the note. Instead, he’s dragged from Dedue’s bed by his mother and led up a dirt path into the mountains. They follow a slow creek for a time and, when they finally reach the shallow pond at the start of the waters, Mrs. Molinaro hands him a small golden trinket that feels powerful in his unknowing hands.

“Pour your heart and soul into it,” she instructs before pointing at a small shrine in the center of the water, “All your love, your wishes and dreams. Then say your prayer and leave your offering with the gods. Do you understand?”

He doesn’t.

“Do you remember?” she asks. He shakes his head. “If you offer them, our guardian will accept your intentions and connect you with those that will revive us all.”

“Oh,” he says, small.

“The guardian will care for you,” she says, covering his hand with her own. “Just as much as you will care for him.”

* * *

When Dimitri wakes in his own body the following morning he sighs, exhausted. On his desk, written out in Dedue’s looping handwriting, is a note.

_Tomorrow is a day of celebration. My village holds a festival every year to celebrate the Gods and the gifts they bring. This year is special; for the first time in 1,100 years we will observe the very comet from where we were born. I’ve been training for my part my entire life. It seems you will be in my body. You will be expected to participate._

Dimitri panics. Dedue has trained for _years._ He’s expected to participate with no knowledge whatsoever?

* * *

The celebration never comes.

Dimitri wakes in his own body the following morning and breathes a sigh of relief.

The next day he wakes in his own body the following morning and feels quite unsettled.

The third day he wakes in his own body he’s just as confused as he was the first time they switched.

“Father,” Dimitri asks after nearly a week, “Do you recognize the name Dedue Molinaro?”

His father gives him a puzzled look. “No. Why do you ask?”

Dimitri swallows and looks back to his plate. “My apologies, it’s nothing.”

Something isn’t right about this. Dimitri takes to the castle library and spends weeks poring over books, maps, and illustrations, trying desperately to find a description of the incredible mountains framing Dedue’s village. Finally he finds a book of paintings titled _Mountains in Northern Kleimann_ and he knows them. He recognizes the mountains that frame Dedue’s village. He has somewhere to start.

* * *

Dimitri doesn’t tell his father when he departs. He leaves in the dead of night, alone and wearing commoner’s clothing, carrying nothing but a bedroll, provisions, a map, and a sketch.

He asks anybody who will stop; a travelling merchant, a woman fetching water, a drunk. Nobody seems to know, nobody has ever seen such mountains. It isn’t until several days in, near the northern border of Kleimann territory, that he meets an innkeeper with an answer.

“Ah,” he says, “Yes, I recognize this young man.”

Dimitri’s spirits lift and he can feel himself soaring. “You do? Do you know where he is?”

He gives him a look over his spectacles; it’s pitying, sorrowful. Dimitri, foolish as he is, holds onto his optimism.

“I’m sorry to tell you, but this boy lived in a village to the west of here.”

Dimitri feels everything crack. “...Lived?”

He nods. “My condolences. I don’t know your relationship to this boy, but he passed away four years ago along with everyone else in his village.”

It breaks. Shatters. His own world falls apart, lights up in flames that flash into darkness while the shards left behind cut into his skin. Dimitri sees white. “It can’t be,” he says. Pleads. “He—four years?!”

“Yes,” he says. He ducks behind his desk, returning moments later with a stack of yellowed papers, pulls one out, and passes it to Dimitri. “That young man was an incredible cook in a smithing village near the border. It’s a tragedy, what happened to him.”

Dimitri holds the paper in shaking hands and reads in disbelief.

_Comet destroys Duscur village._

“This can’t be,” he says.

“What are the odds, hm? They hold that celebration every year, and one day that comet just broke and a piece destroyed everything.”

“Where?” Dimitri asks, abrupt.

“Sir—”

Dimitri pulls out what’s left of the gold in his pouch and pours it on the counter. The innkeeper stares. _“Where?”_

* * *

Even desolate, Dimitri recognizes this place.

He recognizes where the shops lined the streets and the children ran back and forth. He recognizes where the school and the library sat in the village. He recognizes where Dedue’s house once stood on the base of the mountains, slightly elevated from the rest of the village.

It’s gone. All gone. All that remains is the jagged edge of the mountain range surrounding him on all sides.

“No,” he breathes out. He grips his papers tighter. “No!”

And yet, as he stands in place desperately trying to piece everything together, the details begin to fade from his mind. His notes tear and burn at the edges, their embers floating away with the breeze.

_“No!”_

He takes one step back. Two. He’s confused. Where is he? What was he doing?

 _The shrine,_ his mind shouts from the edges of memory. _The shrine still stands._

_What shrine?_

He runs. It doesn’t matter. Whatever’s at this shrine is the most important thing he’s ever forgotten. His feet carry him over flattened land, down an overgrown path, through the brush and along the creek. The creek calls him, beckons him forward and he follows and finally, at the source, he finds a holy place that promises salvation if he can only _trust._

He does. By the gods, he does.

He collapses in front of a weathered sculpture, his heart pounding in his ears and screaming at him to keep going, keep looking, find the answer, find the trinket.

It comes to him, its image clear. A small golden ornament in the shape of a layered fan. The one he left behind with Dedue’s family. Dedue, who’s dead, who he can save if only he figures out _how._

As if summoned, the trinket sparkles on the stone directly in front of him. He sobs and reaches and the moment he touches it everything goes black.

* * *

He wakes up, heaving for breath, staring up at the familiar ceiling of Dedue’s bedroom. The details flood his mind and he jolts up, clutching Dedue’s sheets in his fists as he processes that _he’s alive. Dedue’s alive. Dedue will stay alive if he can save him._

He throws the sheets off himself and stumbles through the bedroom door and into the kitchen where Mrs. Molinaro is tending the stove. She doesn’t even look surprised.

“My dear,” she says, “Share your troubles.”

His mouth opens. Closes. The words don’t come. He shakes his head.

“I see,” she says, returning her attention to the stove. “Does this have to do with today’s festival?”

Dimitri coughs. “I—how did you know?”

She smiles. “I’m a Molinaro,” she says, “This body swapping is part of our connection with the Gods.”

Dimitri’s brain goes blank

“What?”

“Don’t worry about it, sweetheart,” she says. “Why do you look so panicked?”

“The comet,” he says. Her eyes widen. “It’s going to split and destroy the village. Everyone must be evacuated.”

“You’re sure,” she says, voice suddenly serious. He nods. “Understood. Follow me.”

She turns the stove off, turns to hurry through the front door, and down the main road through town. Dimitri follows close behind, heart pounding and thoughts racing, barely keeping his panic at bay. Cutting over the pounding of metal and shouting children, turning wheels and roaring fires, she climbs a podium in the middle of town and she shouts, _“Our prophet has come!”_

The town stops, silent, and listens in rapt attention.

 _“Retrieve your children and anything you cannot live without,”_ she continues, _“We must evacuate immediately.”_

The street erupts into chaos. Parents shout for their children, smiths abandon their stalls, and Mrs. Molinaro steps down from the podium.

“Go,” she tells him with a gentle push, “Go meet him.”

He stumbles back, his breath shudders as he nods. He turns and runs, sprints to the path leading the way to the small shrine up the creek. He’s going to see him. He’s going to meet Dedue.

* * *

This time, when Dedue wakes up in Dimitri’s body, it’s to a familiar sight he’s never seen through Dimitri’s eyes. He jerks up and takes in the details of his own shrine on the outskirts of his village. The one he’s visited regularly with his family. What is Dimitri doing here...?

He rises to his feet delicately; Dimitri’s dressed for travel, not survival. Whatever led him to this place wasn’t his own brain. He runs a hand through his hair and realizes abruptly he’s holding something. He looks at the item in his palm and his breath hitches.

He’s carrying the offering.

His fist clenches around it and its sharp edges dig into his palm. He can’t keep this a secret anymore. He must tell his mother and he must tell her the shrine was disturbed.

He hurries down the concealed path running along the creek, ducking under low hanging trees and skipping over roots. He doesn’t remember the path being so overgrown. The path opens to a familiar road into town. He freezes.

There’s nothing there. Everything’s gone.

All that’s left is a charred valley and a deep, rich sunset.

And, he realizes, a voice.

_Dedue, is that you?_

He spins around. He sees nobody.

“Hello?” he calls.

_Dedue?!_

“Dimitri...?”

The sun dips behind a mountain peak and in the shadows stretching across the valley to where he stands he sees the shimmering shadow of a man. Dimitri stands in front of him, eyes wide in awe, reaching toward him in his own body. Dedue looks down at his hands and sees they’re his own.

“Dedue!” Dimitri takes his hands, “I have so much to tell you.”

“You’re here,” Dedue says, incredulous.

“Yes,” Dimitri says, “And I’m going to save your village. Please trust me.”

“Save...?”

“The comet,” he rushes, “It broke off, it destroyed your village. Your mother knows. She’s helping me, she—”

“Dimitri—”

“Please, just—Dedue, when I went searching for you, when I discovered our lives were separated by four years, my memories began to fade.”

“Fade—?”

“We’ve been touched by magic I don’t understand,” Dimitri says. He squeezes his hand and reaches into his pocket to retrieve a pen. “I’m going to write my name on my hand. When we’re separated again all you must do is look to remember.”

Shards and memories fall in place. Dread falls like a cape over Dedue’s shoulders as he realizes what this means for his village, his life, and for Dimitri’s future.

He’s going to die. And he has moments to tell Dimitri everything.

“Hurry,” Dimitri urges. He pushes his pen into Dedue’s hands and he scrambles to write on his own palm. _“Your name!”_

_Hurry._

The sun sets completely. Stars dot the sky. The pen fades from his hand and he fades into Dimitri’s body.

“I’m sorry,” he says to nobody.

* * *

The sun sets, Dedue fades, and Dimitri runs.

“You’ve done it,” Mrs. Molinaro says when he finds her guiding friends and neighbors through the gate. He nods. “I’m so proud of you.”

The words fill him with pride. He can’t help the smile that crosses his face as he takes his side next to her, urging everyone to hurry, to run past and save their lives. There are only a few stragglers.

“Hurry!” he shouts.

They pass. The woman beside him, barely familiar, smiles at him and follows the last few through the gate. He turns to follow. His eye catches on a bright light, glowing fiery red, accelerating toward him in an apocalyptic descent.

He’s terrified. He knows what this is. What _is_ it?

_Look at your hand._

He unclenches his fist and opens his palm. In smeared black ink, brightly illuminated by the comet, are words that mean everything to him.

_I love you._

He sobs. Everything is hot. _So_ hot. The explosion tears through the air and pushes him forward. He falls and his hands tear up on gravel and shattered glass. Someone grabs his arm and drags him forward. He fights to rise to his feet. He fights to keep running.

In another world, in another life, Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd wakes in his own bed, gasping for air and drenched in sweat. He’s crying. Terrified.

The details of his nightmare fade into nothing.

 _It’s okay,_ he thinks to himself, _It wasn’t real._

* * *

The border between Faerghus and Duscur has always felt strangely like home; welcoming in a way Fhirdiad has never been, and warm despite the freezing ocean breeze. There’s a familiar tug on his memory that pulls him closer to his destination.

Nestled into the base of the mountains is a village filled with laughing children and blacksmithing stalls. Armor in all shades of silver and gold and weapons he never could’ve imagined line the walkways in a display of both skill and quality.

“Would you believe just four years ago a tragedy burned this place to the ground?” his father asks suddenly from beside him. “Everything was gone. The roads, everybody’s homes; just gone.”

“No,” Dimitri breathes out.

Lambert nods gravely. “It was thanks to the brave leadership of Molinaro that everyone survived. You would do well to learn from her.”

“Yes, of course, I—”

Several things happen at once.

One, Dimitri is hit in the face. Hard.

Two, Dimitri is hit in the gut. Not physically, but it hurts all the same.

Three, whatever hit him in the face clatters to the ground, silencing the world around him while children continue playing and the world stops turning. His eyes raise slowly from the heap of metal, up the body of a painfully familiar man in a soft turquoise sweater and a beautifully patterned scarf.

A man he swears he’s seen before but doesn’t quite recognize stares at him, wide-eyed, slack-jawed, and gorgeous.

“I—have we met?” he asks, breathless.

“I don’t believe so.” Oh, he could bathe in that voice. “You feel... familiar, though.”

Dimitri nods emphatically. “Yes. Yes, you—” he feels tears welling up and bursting through the cracks of his royal composure, “Something about you...”

The man stretches out his hand. Dimitri takes it.

And in tandem, they ask:

“What is your name?”

**Author's Note:**

> [twitter](http://www.twitter.com/punchyfakegamer)


End file.
